HELLLLOOOO! So! I've decided to write a mutli-chapter Hayffie fan fic. Originally I wanted it to be in Effie's POV only, but there's a scene in my head that involves Haymitch and Cinna, so you'll see inside the head of these three characters.

This story will be canon compliant, as always. At least for the most part. It was inspired by the line where Katniss is told that Plutarch and Haymitch "fought for Effie's life." That was proof enough for me that Effie was somewhat involved, because why on earth would they care if she had lived otherwise? On that note, when you see lines you recognize (be it from the books or the movies), know that I'm not Suzanne Collins, and have absolutely no desire to be. I write fan fic to better her world, because it needed bettering.

FYI, what I love about multi-chapter fan fics is I can have my Reviewer's input. I'd love to hear your ideas and where you want to see the story go.

Also, please be honest with me. I like making sure that I'm staying in character. Staying true to a character is the most important thing to me. Mostly all of my Hayffie fan fics are in Haymitch's POV. He's easy to write. Effie… Effie is challenging. Let me know how I do. Look out for typos, too! I'm not afraid or offended at corrections.

Last but not least, I look forward to hearing from all of you. I know Hayffie fan fic doesn't get much attention, but it's out there. Show it some love! LOL

-thamockingjayandpeeta

CHAPTER ONE

Words: 1,694

She didn't bother knocking when she entered his cabin. After twenty years there was no need—or no room at this point, really—for such pleasantries. She found him sitting on his bed, using his shirt of all things, to clean the blood off of his face.

"Honestly, Haymitch," she sighed, and she made her way over to his en suite bathroom and grabbed a face towel, soaking it in hot water, and then dabbing it with rubbing alcohol. After wringing it out she wandered over to him, crouching down in front of him, in her brand new green dress no less.

He frowned as she moved his shirt out of the way, and then cursed when she placed the towel on his cut lip.

He shrunk back, cursing her name, and pushing her away.

"Stop acting like such a baby," she snapped out, slapping his hand away and reapplying the pressure. "You're a former Victor. You've certainly endured worse than this."

That shut him up, as mentioning his Games always did, and he scowled at her.

She ignored him.

When she finished cleaning his cut she gently wiped at his face. He had a smaller cut on his eyebrow that he hissed at when she applied a little too much pressure, and she gave him a soft sorry.

"We have our first volunteer," she said gently after a few more moments of silence.

"Well nothing certainly ever gets passed you," said Haymitch sarcastically, and she could smell his spirits on his breath. 'Sept maybe everything."

She didn't respond; just kept cleaning his face. When he looked better she returned to the bathroom, rinsing off the bloody towel, and placing in the dirty clothes hamper.

It'd probably be the only thing to make it in there within the next day and a half.

She walked back up to him as he stood and poured himself another drink, staring into his cold gray eyes. "She's different, Haymitch. I can feel it in my bones. 12 has never had a Volunteer."

"And I bet that bird brain of yours is already trying to figure out how you can move up to the next District now."

She cringed. She always did, when he directed that very first deadly insult of the year to her. The rest of them she normally could shake off. But that first one…

Well that first cut's always the deepest, isn't it?

She turned and walked away, but stopped when she reached the door. She didn't immediately turn around and face him.

"In nineteen years you've done a lot of things, Haymitch, on the day of the Reaping. You've shown up drunk, you've shown up late, you've nearly not shown up. But you have never gone quite this far." Now she turned to look at him. "It's quite clever. Calculating." She paused, lowering her voice. "Some might say rebellious, even." He kept his face completely and totally neutral, except for the eyes. They widened, just enough. "I expect you to go out there and talk to our Tributes, and soon." She had returned her voice to its normal volume. "And change that shirt before you do."

XxXxXxXx

Effie sighed, rubbing her eyes. It was late, but she had to finish her schedule. She'd probably be done with it and already tucked into bed if Haymitch hadn't passed out drunk.

And poor Peeta—such a sweet boy, really—had to clean him up. She wished she hadn't run into them. Sometimes she felt there were some things she was better off not knowing.

She pinched the bridge of her nose and sat back on the couch. This was pointless. She couldn't concentrate.

Another year, two new Tributes.

How much longer could she do this? When the hell would it all end? How many years did she have to watch them all die….?

Effie felt like she was suffocating. She could feel something clawing at her.

They were trying to kill her.

But she would not go down without a fight.

She hit whoever her attacker was. Why couldn't she see him?

But she could smell him.

He smelled like bourbon and scruff and—

"Effie! Effie, got damn it wake up!"

Gasping for air Effie sat up, looking around, her eyes wild, her wig askew.

She saw something move back quickly and her eyes rested on—

"Haymitch," she gasped, placing her hand over her heart. She continued looking around, realizing she was still on the train, on her way to the Capitol. She had fallen asleep on the couch while attempting to finish tomorrow's schedule.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" asked Haymitch, his voice cold, a glass of liquor in his hand. "Gonna wake up the whole damn train."

She gulped for air. "Just a… nightmare. I'm fine."

She wans't fine. She was pale, her skin was clammy, and she was shaking.

"A nightmare?" Haymitch scoffed. "What happened, Princess, break a nail?" he snarled as he took a drink.

She didn't answer. Instead she got up, running to the sink, and emptied her stomach.

She clutched the sink afterwards, willing herself to breathe, just breathe, damn it, because she was not about to lose it, right here, right now, in front of Haymitch Abernathy. She grabbed a towel and wiped herself clean, and then rinsed out the sink, trying to gather her nerves.

"Effie…." How softly he'd said her name brought the tears to her eyes, but she was not about to let them fall. She refused. "What on earth do you get nightmares about?" As if to make up for his momentary compassion, he asked her this question with mockery in his voice.

It was things like this that reminded her why she hated the man. Like there was no way it ever crossed his mind that she could hurt, that she could bleed, that she could feel.

She turned around, meeting his eyes with a stern, angry glare. "I suspect the same bloody thing you get nightmares about every night." The coolness in her voice shocked even her, and she saw the surprise in his eyes at her words, and for some reason, that pissed her off even more. "Don't look so shocked, Haymitch. Of course I've heard you over the past nineteen years. You think I don't know that you always carry a knife on you? You think I don't hear your knife slicing the air at night? But I shouldn't be surprised that you don't hear me waking up from my own screams. You're normally passed out drunk by this time."

And with that she threw the towel down in the sink and marched off, never glancing back.

If she had, she might have seen the glare.

And she might have gotten a glimpse of the guilt.

XxXxXx

She had long ago learned to keep her door slightly ajar. It was the only way she could get Haymitch to not burst in, because he was never going to knock. One time she had barely finished putting her dress on when he had barged in, asking about another bottle of liquor. He'd stopped dead in his tracks, as it was clear she was barely done dressing. Her dress wasn't even zipped up.

He'd turned around and left, and they never spoke of it, except for Effie telling him that her door was always open, unless it was closed.

So when Haymitch pushed her door open after breakfast, he didn't walk in on her dressing or undressing, as he noticed the door cracked open.

"You were right," he said without preamble, leaning against the doorframe, a bottle in his hand.

She was sitting at her vanity, sipping some colorful drink, papers scattered around her desk, and she locked eyes with him in the mirror. "I'm right a lot," said Effie. "Care to be more specific?"

She saw the corners of his mouth twitch and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling.

They did not smile or joke with each other.

"About the girl." Effie just arched an eyebrow. "Both of them, really. So. I need you to do the shit you do—"

"I always do."

"And I'll finally do the shit I'm supposed to do," continued Haymitch, as if she hadn't interrupted. "Since… you know… I am their lifeline."

Refusing to blush as he'd overheard her complimenting him, she turned to him. "Okay." He didn't leave, like she thought he would, but lingered. "Anything else?" She understood she was being a little rude, and quite cool with Haymitch, but she hated that she'd been so vulnerable last night.

"Uh… yah. I might… I might of got into it with the boy this morning."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Got into it… how?"

"He spilled my liquor so… we might have fought a little."

She stood up. "He… fought back?"

Now he grinned. "He actually started it. I would have been proud, except…"

"Except he spilled your liquor." It took the utmost restraint on her part not to roll her eyes, but her sarcasm wasn't lost on him.

He made to leave when she remembered something. "Haymitch." She listened to him as he made his way back to her room, popping his head in.

"I got a call earlier today. We were… given a new prep team."

Haymitch's eyebrows shot into his hairline. "What?"

"I think it was because Katniss volunteered. A friend of mine from the Capitol told me everyone's already buzzing. I can spin this in our favor, particularly now that we have an up and coming fashion designer. His name is Cinna, and he's all the rage in the Capitol."

He stared at her for a long time, not saying anything. He was calculating something, but she wasn't sure what.

"Do what you can to see if he'll make Katniss and Peeta stand out."

"I've already spoken to him. He's a got a few ideas about coal and—"

Haymitch scowled. "Original," he said dryly.

This time Effie did roll her eyes. Well if he was just going to interrupt…. "Goodbye, Haymitch."

He didn't respond. Just turned around and left, the bottle to his lips.